


First Impressions

by toushindai (WallofIllusion)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallofIllusion/pseuds/toushindai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Victor meets someone new, and makes a fool of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> I feel so very blessed to know that this happened.

Victor was not nervous.

Eager, certainly. A little worked up, perhaps, in at least one sense of the term. But nervous, to have been summoned to the bedroom of one Lucrezia de Dormentaire? Of course not. And to prove it, he was chatting animatedly with the guard escorting him through the Dormentaire manor. Well, _at_ him, at least. The guard wasn’t saying a whole lot back.

“I met her at one of their fancy-ass parties,” Victor explained, answering a question literally no one had asked him. He smirked a little at the memory. “All dolled up with the hoop skirt and the wig and everything. She was gorgeous—but she’s always gorgeous, you know that.”

Half of Europe knew it. Victor had assumed the never-ending praises of her beauty were exaggeration until that night—right up until the very moment, in fact, when he’d first laid eyes on her and known that the stories could have referred to none other.

“So picture this: I’m already in over my head, right—I don’t even know how I wound up at this thing—and I can’t stop staring at her whenever she’s looking in some other direction. I think I’m being subtle about it. And then I lose sight of her for a little while, which, fine, she’s got other shit to do, right? So I shrug it off and don’t think anything of it until I feel this tap on my shoulder and who’s fucking standing there but the belle of the ball herself, smirking at me. You’ve seen those little grins of hers, right?”

The guard remained stoic, but a flush crept up his neck to his cheeks. Victor nodded with a grim smile.

“Yeah, you’ve seen them, all right. That was the exact instant I knew I was screwed. I mean, I was screwed from the first second I saw her, but I didn’t _realize_ it until she turned that charm on me at close range. Jesus.” He tugged at the neck of his shirt, which suddenly felt too tight. “I’d jump into a roaring fire if she told me to. Wouldn’t give it a second thought. If I live to a hundred and never saw her again after that party, I’d still dream about that smile every night.”

But in just a few minutes he _would_ see her again, and unless he badly missed his guess, he was about to have a lot more than a simple smile and a few words of conversation to remember her by. And he was definitely, absolutely not nervous about it. He tugged on the collar of his shirt once more, trying to catch his breath after his rambling monologue.

“Don’t tell her I said any of that, though, yeah? She hears about that, she’ll probably tell me to jump into a fire just for the hell of it. And then she’ll laugh.”

…God, that laugh. He was not going to be able to catch his breath if he kept thinking about her laugh.

In any case, it looked like they’d reached their destination. The guard who’d escorted him stopped in the hall and nodded to the two guards flanking an exquisitely carved and gilded door. One guard nodded back and disappeared into the room. The guard who remained stared straight ahead without turning Victor’s way, even as Victor narrowed his eyes in confusion. The guard in question had short brown hair, tanned skin, the same uniform as the rest of the Dormentaire associates—and _tits_.

Keeping his eyes trained on her, Victor leaned towards his escort conspiratorially and spoke under his breath. “Look, I’m not gonna tell the House Dormentaire their business, god knows they wouldn’t listen to me, but don’t you think this is a little stupid? If Lucrezia’s so indiscriminate about who she lets into her bedroom, shouldn’t she at _least_ hire a better guard than a chick playing dress-up?”

He had just enough time to notice the way his escort took a step back—and then the next thing he knew was a sharp pain in his shins and the impact of his chest hitting the marble floor. He felt his right arm cranked backwards and a heavy weight—was that a knee?—pressed against the small of his back and jesus _christ_ , he could hardly breathe. As he wheezed for air, he heard a chilly female voice at close range. “Do you have any further questions about my qualifications?”

The guard. The female guard had him fucking pinned to the floor. Victor made an attempt to get free, only to discover that with his arm bent back at that particular angle, movement equaled pain. “Let go of me,” he rasped, craning his neck to look at the guard. She gazed back down at him, her eyes bored and contemptuous. She didn’t let go of him.

Victor gritted his teeth and glanced at his escort, who was now staring pointedly ahead and ignoring Victor’s predicament. Bastard. But before Victor could summon the breath to call him out on it, the door opened once more, and—

“Oh my,” said a different female voice, sounding more amused than surprised. “What’s happened here?”

God- _fucking-_ dammit.

Lucrezia stepped out of her bedroom and Victor looked up at her as best he could from his position on the floor. Instantly, he turned brick red. She was close enough that if she’d been wearing one of the hoop skirts that were in fashion among the nobility, he would have been staring straight up said skirt. But that wasn’t what she was wearing. Instead she was clad in—was that a slip? Was it underwear? With the way it clung to her body, blatantly revealing the shape of her legs and hips— _jesus_ —it couldn’t possibly be a complete outfit, but it was decorated as richly and elaborately as any proper gown, and she didn’t seem ashamed to leave the safety of her bedroom dressed that way. On the contrary, she smiled down at him over folded arms, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Without the powdered wig she’d worn at the party, her blonde hair shone like literal gold.

“Victor, sweetheart, did you say something unwise?” she asked, tilting her head.

He’d thought he was already blushing as hard as he could, but nope, being addressed by her made him even redder. The guard’s knee ground against his spine. “Y-yes,” he muttered.

“You won’t make that mistake again, will you?”

“Hell no.” What, did he look like he had a death wish or something?

“Good.” Lucrezia’s gaze shifted from him to the guard pinning him to the floor. “You heard him, Carla. Let him up, won’t you, dear? He’s a quick study. I’m sure he’ll say sorry ever so sweetly once he’s caught his breath.”

The weight on Victor’s back disappeared, and he heard the sound of the guard stepping back. Still red, he got to his feet and dusted off his shirt. A sidelong glance at Lucrezia confirmed that he was, indeed, expected to apologize.

The guard stood at attention, her gaze fixed on Victor as she waited. Now that he was looking for it, he could see that her posture was unmistakably that of an experienced fighter. He sighed. “Carla, right?”

She nodded once, her face not changing.

“I’m sorry, Carla. I was wrong to call your abilities into question.”

“ _Very_ wrong, clearly,” Lucrezia remarked with a giggle. But Carla still didn’t smile.

“And my uniform?” she prompted. “I believe you accused me of playing dress-up.”

Yeah, yeah, that was what he’d said, wasn’t it? Victor ran a hand through his hair. “It—I was wrong. You’ve obviously earned it. It, uh, it suits you.”

Which, again, now that he actually looked at her, it did. There was a self-assured arrogance to the Dormentaire uniform which was nicely mirrored by the look in her eyes as she assessed him. At the very least, it looked a damn sight better than it would have looked on him.

Lucrezia’s arm suddenly slithered around his waist and he jumped half a foot. She soothed him by resting her cheek on his shoulder. But her smile was directed at Carla. “How’s that?” she asked. “Are you satisfied, darling?”

A long pause as Carla’s impassive eyes continued to bore into him. Damn, this girl could glare. And Victor had the sneaking suspicion that if his apology _hadn’t_ satisfied her, then regardless of the way Lucrezia was currently nuzzling his shoulder, he’d be turned away and sent home without a chance to say another word.

But at last, Carla straightened and returned her gaze to the middle distance. “I’m satisfied,” she answered with finality.

Delight lit up Lucrezia’s face. “Wonderful! He’s mine for the rest of the night, then,” she exclaimed, and without further ado pulled Victor into her bedroom suite.

 

Several kisses and three or four removed articles of clothing later, Lucrezia held Victor’s face between her palms and stared into his eyes earnestly.

“…What?” he asked.

She gave a pretty little sigh and traced his jawbone with one finger.

“You’re such an idiot, Victor,” she said fondly. “But I love you anyway.”


End file.
